The Gentle Art of Head Wounds
by bramble
Summary: J/D, post TWoQ: "So," I start casually. "Josh is meeting Amy Gardner for drinks."


Title: The Gentle Art of Head Wounds  
Author: Bramble  
Rating: PG-13  
Category: J/D  
Summary: "So," I start casually. "Josh is meeting Amy  
Gardner for drinks."  
Spoilers: BTSotU, TWaH, TWoQ.  
Feedback: More fun than a slinky.  
Disclaimers: Eh, AS owns them.   
Notes: It's fluffy and light, really, I guess I just  
had the urge to write something not very serious. And  
thanks to Kim for the 'Special Ed'.   
This post-ep stands alone and is not related to any  
other post-eps.   
  
  
* * *   
  
"Sam?"   
  
"Yeah?" He looks up and catches my eye.   
  
"You're still here?" I ask rhetorically, walking in   
and sitting in one of his guest chairs.   
  
"Yep, I'm saving the sea otter from a dismal fate," he  
says proudly.   
  
"Excuse me?"   
  
"Well, I'm being their spokesman here. Or trying to,"  
he adds in a mutter.   
  
"Ah, you like doing that. The spokesman part."   
  
"I do."   
  
"So," I start casually. "Josh is meeting Amy Gardner  
for drinks."   
  
"When?"   
  
"Oh, now."   
  
"Oh?" He replies, not bothering to look up at me.   
  
"Yeah, she called him today. Invited him for drinks."   
  
"Well, it is perfectly acceptable for a woman to ask a  
man out now a days."   
  
"Oh, yeah. It is. When she called, she asked to speak  
to Special J."   
  
"Who's that?" Sam asks, finally looking up again.   
  
"That's what I said. Apparently, that's Josh."   
  
"Special J?" he repeats, looking confused.   
  
"Yeah, that's what she calls him, which is funny  
because he hates nicknames, anyway...Special J, that  
sounds...really stupid..." I trail off, before adding,  
"the Special makes him sound  
retarded."   
  
"When I was in high school, there was a guy we called  
Special Ed."   
  
"Was he mentally retarded?"   
  
"No," Sam answers. "Just really stupid."   
  
"See?"   
  
Sam nods and then looks back down.   
  
"What are you working on?" I get up and try to read  
what he's writing over his shoulder.   
  
"Donna, I..." he guards his papers protectively with  
his hands. "I can't work with someone looking over..."  
  
  
"Oh, sorry." I go back over and sit down as he sighs  
quietly.   
  
"Why are you even still here? I would think you'd take  
advantage of Josh leaving early."   
  
"Well, I had some stuff to finish."   
  
"Shouldn't you go finish it?"   
  
"I did."   
  
I finished it an hour ago. Since then, I've  
re-organized my desk and Josh's table, cleared out   
his inbox, and read through Margaret's secret stash   
of Cosmopolitan magazines -- I even took all the  
quizzes. Apparently, I'm an exotic, sultry, sex   
goddess hiding under a slightly girlish and shy  
disguise, who needs a career change and a new shower  
massage.   
  
Oh yeah, and I'd make a great spy and/or a pastry   
chef.   
  
Oh god, maybe I should go home.   
  
"Why don't you go home then?" He asks, looking   
slightly puzzled.   
  
"Yeah," I shrug. "I could do that." But I don't,  
instead, I look around his desk and see a slinky. I  
grab it and start slinking it back and forth between   
my hands.   
  
"Where'd you get this?"   
  
He smiles. "It's not mine. Larry left it in here  
yesterday."   
  
"Want to see how many steps we could make it go down  
out by the..."   
  
"Donna, I'm kind of busy now," he interrupts me, then  
studies me for a minute. "You hungry?"   
  
"Why?"   
  
"We could go grab some dinner," he starts, giving me   
an odd look. The kind of look you give when you're  
trying to make someone feel better. Why is Sam trying  
to make me feel better? Do I need to feel better?   
  
I feel fine.   
  
"I thought you were busy? What about the poor sea  
otters? Don't they need your help?"   
  
"Ah, they'll still be around when I get back --   
they're a deceptively hearty little species despite  
what the EPA says."   
  
I feel my forehead crinkle. "Why do you want to go  
eat?"   
  
"I don't know...you look...hungry?" He states, but it  
comes off sounding a lot more like a question.   
  
"I do?"   
  
"Maybe. I just thought, you know, I mean...are you  
okay?"   
  
"Why wouldn't I be okay?"   
  
"I don't know. No reason, you're fine," he answers  
quickly.   
  
"I am," I get up. "Maybe I will just go home now."   
  
"That's a good idea," he agrees, looking pretty  
relieved.   
  
"Right. Okay. Night, Sam."   
  
"Bye, Donna," he calls after me. I turn around and  
stick my head back inside his office.   
  
"And thanks for the dinner offer," I add and he gives  
me a smile, before looking back down again and getting  
back to his hearty little otters.   
  
* * *   
  
"Hello?"   
  
"Hi. How you doin'?" Greets me from the phone.   
  
"Josh?"   
  
"Yeah."   
  
I look at the clock, 11:48. "Where are you?"   
  
"I just got home."   
  
"Oh."   
  
That's late. When Cliff and I had drinks, I was home   
by 11:00 -- you know, I'm just mentioning that for  
comparative reasons.   
  
"So. I have a question," he starts off and I brace  
myself for whatever ridiculous query Josh felt the   
need to phone me this late about.   
  
"Yes?" I sit up a bit in bed.   
  
"Amy asked me out tonight..."   
  
"Yes."   
  
"And then she paid. Does that mean something? I mean,  
in a something-I-should-know-about-women way?"   
  
"Did she buy you dinner too?"   
  
"Well, appetizers. Yeah."   
  
"Hmm, she might be trying to purchase your favors," I  
throw out, trying really hard not to laugh.   
  
Silence.   
  
"Josh?"   
  
"I know I've said this before, but I think it bears  
repeating -- you're an hysterically funny person," and  
his tone indicates, that he really doesn't think that  
at all.   
  
"Yeah," I agree. "I really am." Fortunately, I think I  
am. A funny person, that is.   
  
"Seriously, Donna, does this mean something?"   
  
"Seriously, Josh, she wants you to owe her."   
  
"Sex?" He squeaks.   
  
"Perhaps. What else have you got that she might want?"  
  
  
"Okay, you know what? I think I'll figure this out on  
my own."   
  
"No you won't."   
  
"I won't?"   
  
"No, tomorrow you'll go ask Sam and when he has no  
clue, you'll try to ask CJ, but you'll chicken out   
when she glares at you after you preface your question  
in some completely inappropriate way."   
  
"Are you going to start clucking at me now?"   
  
"Nope, I'll wait until tomorrow to do that when you  
spend the rest of the day hiding from CJ and her  
glares."   
  
There's a pause. "Do you think Sam will be more   
helpful than you're being?"   
  
"Maybe. He did date a prostitute for a while," I  
deadpan.   
  
"Okay, see, I'm not sure what the hell I was thinking  
here, calling and asking for your assistance."   
  
"I'm not sure either, since it's not in my job  
description to assist you with your dating dilemmas."  
Ouch, that came out a little harsh.   
  
"That's never stopped you before," he responds quickly  
and just as heatedly.   
  
That's never stopped you either," I point out.   
  
There's an uneasy silence and then, "So, did you   
finish that thing?"   
  
"Yeah, it's on your chair," I answer, not mentioning  
all the other things I did at work tonight while he   
was out being all -- Special J.   
  
"What are you doing?"   
  
"I'm in bed."   
  
* * *   
  
"Me too, " I respond, stretching out a bit, glad   
that I was able to save the conversation from going  
someplace stupid.   
  
"You should ask Sam to tell you about his friend Ed  
tomorrow," Donna suggests, making me think she's going  
to be losing me soon.   
  
"Who's Ed? Larry's Ed?"   
  
"No, Sam's Ed. From high school. Ask him, it might   
help with your dating issues," she says, as I try to  
figure out if she sounds upset or not. Or what the   
hell she's talking about some guy named Ed who went to  
high school with Sam for.   
  
I think she should be upset that I had a date. I was  
gone for nearly five hours with Amy -- appetizers were  
involved and everything.   
  
And apparently, Amy is trying to barter for my very  
in-demand, sexual favors.   
  
"Amy's a very attractive woman," I throw out, for some  
reason that escapes my better judgment.   
  
There's a brief silence. "That's right. I met her last  
year at that embassy party. She is, Josh."   
  
I swear that came out in a weird voice. Huh. Okay,  
let's try this.   
  
"I'm gathering rosebuds, Donna. I'm wooing. Women   
like to be wooed."   
  
"Good, Josh. And actually, she's wooing. Or buying,   
you know, with potato skins and nachos."   
  
"Actually, we ordered brie en croute. That's when..."   
  
"I know what that is," she says snippily, cutting me  
off.   
  
"Okay, I was just letting you know. There were also  
crab cakes involved...and fancy imported beer."   
  
"So you're an expensive call boy."   
  
"I prefer high-priced male escort," I shoot back.   
  
"She's going to woo you and then throw you away when  
you've outgrown your tawdry use."   
  
"That would work -- isn't that my usual dating modus  
operandi anyway?"   
  
I hear a distinct huff on the other end of the phone.  
Yep, something's going on with her and I'm thinking   
she might be bothered by my sudden social life. Which  
is interesting, since, on occasion, I might have found  
myself a bit bothered by her dating habits.   
  
Not jealous...*bothered*.   
  
I blindly reach up and feel around for the latest   
issue of George that I left on the shelf of my  
headboard, but instead of the light magazine, my   
hand bumps into something else. The next thing I know  
there's a large thumping noise, accompanied by a sharp  
pain in my forehead.   
  
"Josh?"   
  
"Oh god," I manage to mutter, lifting the heavy book  
off my head.   
  
"Josh? Are you okay?"   
  
"Yeah, I just, uh, knocked a book off my headboard   
and it hit...me over the...head."   
  
Right on the head. Oh crap, that's almost funny --   
in a freakish sort of way, of course.   
  
"You're okay?" She repeats, sounding more concerned.   
  
"Ah, yeah. I gotta go."   
  
"Need to get back to your street corner?" She teases.   
  
"Yeah, see you tomorrow," I hang up before she can   
say anything else, then I look at the book.   
  
How apropos. It's my old social studies textbook -- no  
wonder it hurt so much, that thing weighs a freakin'  
ton.   
  
* * *   
  
"Donna!"   
  
Nothing.   
  
"Donna!"   
  
Finally she pokes her head in my office.   
  
"God, hold your horses, Josh. What?"   
  
"My head hurts."   
  
"Josh your head is fine."   
  
"I think the bump is getting bigger."   
  
"I doubt that."   
  
"I could have been killed, by my massive head wound."   
  
"Your head is very hard -- I think you would have   
been fine no matter what."   
  
I run my hand through my hair. Ow! God, it really does  
hurt.   
  
"Donna, seriously, it's growing. What happens when   
you get a concussion? Does the wound get bigger?"   
  
She makes a face, then walks over to me and for a  
moment, I think she's going to hurt me, but when she  
lays her hand up on my head it's just as gentle and  
soft as the earlier two times I  
made her feel it.   
  
"Josh," she sighs. "Your bump feels the same."   
  
"Are you sure it's not bigger? It feels bigger."   
  
"It's not bigger," she answers, pulling her hand off  
me, after running it through my hair quickly, and   
then lets it drop down and rest on my shoulder.   
  
"Okay, but what about a concussion?" I ask, looking   
up at her, grinning just a bit.   
  
"Have you fallen asleep since you hit your head last  
night?"   
  
"Yes."   
  
"Did you wake up?"   
  
I look around. "Am I really here or am I just dreaming  
this?"   
  
She rolls her eyes at me, but now she's smiling too.  
"Josh, if you woke up this morning, you don't have a  
concussion."   
  
"Are you making that up?"   
  
"No."   
  
"Could I see some references, please?"   
  
"Josh!"   
  
"Donna! References! Unless you've completed medical  
school in the last few days, get on the Web and just  
give me some proof that you know what you're talking  
about."   
  
"And then you'll shut up about your head wound?"   
  
"Massive head wound, mind you and yeah, I'll shut up  
about it then."   
  
"Fine," she turns and heads out, as I reach for the  
Advil she brought me earlier and swallow two down   
with my lukewarm coffee.   
  
* * *   
  
"So, Amy Gardner asked you out for drinks last night,"  
Sam says out of nowhere and the slinky stops in my  
hands, mid-slink. I hadn't even gotten to the point   
of asking him anything yet -- I was still deciding   
on how best to introduce the topic in a way that  
wouldn't make me seem that clueless.   
  
Because, really, if I'm going to Sam for advice on  
women, well, I'm a bit clueless.   
  
"What? How do you know about that?"   
  
"Donna told me."   
  
"When?"   
  
"Last night."   
  
"Huh," I answer absently, not quite sure what to make  
of this information. I turn around to make sure his  
door is shut.   
  
"What'd she say?"   
  
"Nothing much, just that Amy calls you Special J," and  
here he stops to make an amused face. "And that she  
asked you out for drinks last night."   
  
"She does and she did."   
  
"Have a good time?"   
  
"Ah, yeah. So, what else did Donna say?"   
  
He gives me a curious look. "She thinks Special J is   
a stupid nickname."   
  
I shrug my shoulders. "Well, yeah. What else?"   
  
"She was...fidgety."   
  
"Fidgety? What the hell does that mean?" C'mon Sam, I  
think, repeatedly tapping my foot on the floor, give   
me more than that.   
  
Suddenly the door bursts open and Larry walks in.   
  
"My slinky -- I've been looking all over for that!"   
He comes up to me and holds his hand out expectantly.   
  
"What?"   
  
"Josh, you have my slinky."   
  
"Oh! yeah, here, here," I stop playing with it and   
give it to him. "Sorry, I forgot I was holding onto  
it."   
  
He starts to leave. "Oh, Donna says you have Leo in   
ten minutes and that you shouldn't be late or you   
might end up with more head wounds," he pauses. "What  
does that mean?"   
  
"Nothing," I answer quickly as he leaves, shutting   
the door behind him.   
  
"Head wounds?" Sam asks.   
  
"Oh, I just dropped a book on my head last night and  
Donna's pissed because I made her research concussions  
this morning. Anyway, so she was fidgety, you say?"   
  
"Yeah. Look, Josh?"   
  
"What?"   
  
He stares at me for a second. "Is something going   
on?"   
  
"What? What do you mean?"   
  
"Nothing," he pauses. "Nothing, really. It's none of   
my business."   
  
"Okay."   
  
"You know there are rumors about you and Donna,   
right?" He asks a second later.   
  
"Yeah."   
  
"They are just rumors, right?"   
  
"Of course they are," I answer back.   
  
He smiles. "Yeah, I knew that."   
  
"Yeah. Okay, I need to get in to see Leo and," I start  
to get up. "So, I'm just going to go do that. Oh, I'm  
supposed to ask you about an Ed?"   
  
"Ed? Larry's Ed?"   
  
"No. Your Ed, you knew him in high school?"   
  
"Oh yeah," he grins. "Special Ed. What about him?"   
  
I shake my head. Yep. Hysterical, she is. "Never   
mind."   
  
"'Kay."   
  
On the way back to my office I stop and find myself  
watching Donna fill out some reports. She doesn't see  
me and I have a few seconds to just observe her.   
  
She's got her head down while she writes something out  
at her desk and she's biting her lip gently, the way  
she does when she's really concentrating.   
  
Amy's wrong -- she's not cute at all. She's really   
very beautiful.   
  
And my assistant.   
  
When I get into my office there's a post-it on my  
chair. Amy called while I was with Sam. I push that to  
the side, over by the phone, and grab the folder with  
the numbers Leo wants.   
  
But before I leave, I take two more Advil -- I have a  
feeling I'm going to need them.   
  
* * *   
  
The End. 


End file.
